


The Love of a Lifetime

by StrikeLikeACobraKai



Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series), Karate Kid (Movies)
Genre: Christmas, Daniel and Amanda briefly in this story, Exes, F/M, Johnny and Carmen did not happen in this timeline, Love, Occasional vague and inexact references to past underage behavior, POV Ali, POV First Person, Rekindled love, Romance, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 12:55:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30106290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrikeLikeACobraKai/pseuds/StrikeLikeACobraKai
Summary: When she went to Golf N’ Stuff with Johnny, Ali started to think that long-lost love was returning to her. She and Johnny nearly shared a kiss, but they lost their moment.Ali has to decide what to do when fate gives her one last chance, at the Christmas party at Encino Oaks.Set during 3 x 10.
Relationships: Johnny Lawrence/Ali Mills
Comments: 12
Kudos: 19





	The Love of a Lifetime

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all :) It’s nice to see you back for some more Johnny/Ali love.
> 
> Much like in my fic ‘The Past or the Future’, this is a timeline where Johnny and Carmen did not get together. Also, given that episode 10 is all kinds of a mess for most characters, this story takes place in a world where the Christmas party happens on a pretty uneventful night.
> 
> If you ship this couple, have you read my long work about them, Malibu?
> 
> On with the story here, and I’d love to hear from you if you read this :)

There’s been a funny voice in my head all day telling me I’m too old for this.

Being around Johnny again has taken me right back to the early eighties, to high school. It’s made me feel like the girl I was then, and to complicate things, Johnny seems like exactly who he was, too. And there are feelings associated with those two people: strong feelings.

Should a woman in her fifties be thinking so fondly about her ex and their teen romance, just because her marriage failed? It’s either completely pathetic or totally romantic, and what I’m wondering is, whether I can find someone who can tell me which one of the two.

Our past history is a big old mix of love, fun and heartbreak. When I broke it off, I had heartbreak, too; I’d had it for a while when we were still together, but Johnny either didn’t see it or couldn’t fix what was causing it. Neither of us knew how to.

That was my feeling about Johnny for the next few years: sad, angry, heartbroken. But once my life had moved on, and I got into a few long-term relationships, I started to realise that they never come easy, and you just learn a little more about how to do it, the older you get. Maybe you make one work, eventually. Maybe you even get a few shots at it, with more than one great person.

I’ve had a couple, and they’ve been happy enough. But even by the time I was twenty-one, I knew that what Johnny and I had had was an intense and rare love. By then, already I was starting to think about how good it had felt to be loved like that and to love that much in return, and how that sort of thing doesn’t just come along.

By the time I was twenty-five, I started to see that maybe it was more special that that. I had enough distance by then, that I could remember all the love and the fun, instead of the difficulty, like it was at the end.

I decided that that teenage girl was just about the luckiest person in the world, for having known that love.

I don’t blame myself for letting it go at the time. When we stopped, it was because it wasn’t good for us anymore. I don’t even know that I blame Johnny, either. Like I said at lunch, I can’t even remember why were so mad at each other. But we were, and I was, and we broke up. It’s where we were at, and people aren’t perfect. We’re all a work in progress.

What I do wish is that I’d understood that then, that I’d realised if I’d have stuck around and waited, given us some time to grow up out of our bad habits, the drama and selfishness of being teenagers, then maybe we could have tried again.

And maybe my whole entire life would have been different.

Well, not all of it, to be fair. I’ve got so much to be thankful for. But my romantic life, after such a bright and white-hot start, was dull in comparison. It feels okay. Sometimes it feels nice, even lovely. But never _that_ feeling again.

I think you only get that with one person, and, only then if you’re fortunate. From watching my friends, I actually think that maybe hardly _anybody_ gets it, and instead you just choose to have a relationship with someone it works with, if you want one. And it’s good enough.

But me, I couldn’t forget. You can’t forget having a love like ours. After that, there are only paler versions, like someone making a photocopy of a photocopy, until it’s just a vague impression of what the original once looked like, in full and sharp color.

I’d settled on being okay about it, taking my chances for love when they came. Trying to make my marriage work out for as long as I could, until I couldn’t.

Johnny was just a happy memory which I kept in a secret place. I could think about him, when I wanted to remember what it was like to be intensely alive, loved with a raging love; a feeling that could overthrow you, if you let it.

But then he stepped out of the realm of memory when he got in touch with me. All the crazy things that happened to make me smile since then, to feel the painful prick of nostalgia, led me to think that maybe seeing him one final time when I was down for Christmas, might give me some closure on it all.

Of course, the moment I walked into the café, I knew that closure with Johnny was the _last_ thing I was getting.

He looked at me, both old and young in the same instant, and I couldn’t look away. I went to him, knowing that things were going to open up wide for me, and they did. From the first touch, the hug, it was hard to let him go. Hard to believe he was still Johnny; _impossible_ to believe it felt so electric, so overpowering, and that it looked like he was right there feeling that too.

Pretty soon, I think we were flirting. His smile has gotten less guarded since we were kids, I think, or because now that he’s old like me, we don’t have to be cool anymore. Maybe he just felt like I did, so breathless about seeing each other, and it feeling so easy to be together, that it was too hard to hide. My feet moved to the edge of an expanse, a far-reaching horizon of possibility. Or the _dream_ of a possibility. It compelled me to stay, and not to turn away from what I could see there.

Maybe the smiles were flirting, maybe they weren’t. Maybe they were nostalgia, and two people who get along.

But the touching that started up, then, and mostly when we went out after that: that _was_ flirting. Believe me, I’m old enough to know. I’m not sure if I can pinpoint who started it; maybe it was me, since it was my idea to go on our old date.

When we were playing the arcade games, Johnny put his arm around me when he didn’t need to. I touched him, left my hand on his wrist, while we talked about our memories, and I didn’t need to do that, either. We played golf like teenagers: exactly as we did when we were teenagers, until we strolled, arms around each other, at the end.

On the ferris wheel, I barely talked, because I couldn’t stop thinking about our first kiss. We smiled at each other, we looked down at the view; he sat next to me, his leg a warm solid reality against mine. I tried to work out what the smell of his new cologne was, because it was a familiar scent.

Then Johnny started to laugh, and I hit him on the arm, because I knew he was remembering that disaster up here again, but I was trying to remember the second time here, that wasn’t.

I wondered about how to go back in time thirty-six years, to tell that young girl in the carriage that maybe this guy was the one. That it was going to get hard, but if she could find a way through, if she could just wait until they grew up, both of them, then she had a shot at a once-in-a-lifetime love story.

The ride finished, and I hadn’t thought of a way to go back and tell her.

Johnny and I took photos together with my cell, and I began to hope things, to feel things, and to think that maybe Johnny was feeling them, too. It was like us going up the climb of a rollercoaster, with his arms all around me; that sometime, we’d get to the top, and then we’d have the drop together, the adrenaline rush, where we could no longer stop what was happening.

That’s what I wanted. When we sat down on the bench, we were right beside each other again, and for me, there was no confusion about why. We talked; we laughed. I waited, but he didn’t make a move.

Maybe he didn’t see me as clearly as I could see him, so I gave him one last hint.

What happened after that, it felt like I _had_ achieved going back to tell that girl not to give up on Johnny. It felt like it was all there, for us to begin again.

And then, of course, the kiss never _quite_ happened.

It’s an incredibly frustrating feeling. Part of me just wanted to pull him toward me and do it anyway, but we’d lost our moment, and Johnny had lost his nerve.

But I could see one last shot, one last chance to see if I want to go for it, and to see if he does: I invited him to the party. And as soon as I see him walk in that door, see his face when he notices me standing here with Daniel, I know our opportunity isn’t quite gone, yet.

I call Johnny over, hoping he won’t be able to tell _just how much_ I’d longed for another chance to see him. He comes right to me, puts his arm around me possessively, and there’s no way that isn’t a sign from fate, of what I’m meant to do.

I take his gesture with such optimistic longing, as Johnny staking a hopeful claim on me – _let it mean that, please god, let that be what it means_ \- and instead of it bothering me, it lights up something inside me. I never played along with macho bullshit, and Johnny knows that: he owned me as much as I owned him, and it was equal on both sides.

We sit together with Daniel and his wife, eating dinner and listening to the music. I observe in the abstract how unlikely that is, how almost absurd, to be there as the four of us. The contrast to how it feels to see one ex to another confirms things that I don’t need confirmed.

But it’s been a fun night, if strange at times, to navigate the old stories, the new ones, even if my inner thoughts are mostly elsewhere. Amanda is funny and intelligent, but she’s also been friendly to me, sweet, in a way that nobody would assume a wife would be to an ex. Luckily, my history with Daniel feels a long time ago, and I think Amanda knows that.

My history with Johnny feels right up close: in sharp focus, like we’re getting to see just the edge of the original color picture, like we could pull it out to look properly at it, if we choose to.

I think maybe I’ve made up my mind. Maybe it’s not pathetic, after all. Maybe this is the most logical thing I could _possibly_ do. I might be able to find our extraordinary love, once again. I doubt many people ever could be sure of one existing, but there’s mine, right there next to me.

Maybe it won’t work, just like before. Maybe it will. But I can’t think of any reason on the earth why I wouldn’t _try_.

The view I see is what I’ve searched for, for my whole life, and I’m not turning away now. So I’d better stake my claim, before this final chance disappears, and I run out of excuses to see Johnny.

He and Daniel have been making subtle, or not subtle, jokes at each other’s expense, all night. I can’t resist joining into our talk about the old days, trying to be fair and not take sides so that this would get awkward.

Once we’re talking about a few things that happened with Daniel, Johnny starts to laugh, his face alight.

“This is the best story I have ever heard. Please keep going.”

I flash him a teasing smile. “Oh, should we talk about what a bad boyfriend you were?”

I laugh with the Larussos, and Johnny protests, “Oh no, it's all right.”

Daniel is eager that we go that way. “Yes, yes, definitely,” he’s saying. “Some shrapnel to that side of the table, please.”

But I don’t actually have any ammunition I want to let off. I slip my foot across until I find Johnny under the table.

“I guess both of our heads were pretty far up our asses back then,” Johnny says. He starts to laugh, shake it off, but then quickly glances at me, when he realises I’ve started up our contact again.

Daniel agrees, “Whose wasn’t back in high school?”

Amanda uses her wine to gesture as she talks. “Mine was so far up there, I could see out of my mouth. Wait, did that make sense? Or is that the wine talking?”

I grin at Johnny while Daniel encourages me again to tell the group all about Johnny, which I have no intention of doing. I rest my calf against his black trousers, firm enough for there to be no mistaking it, and no excuse for why I’m doing it. I think my move is a bit more forward than a lot of them were today, all right up until that near-kiss. I’ll be inwardly humiliated if he rejects me, if he’s had time to think better of starting this again, but I have to take the risk.

Amanda is laughing about how teens don’t have a clue, and she’s saying exactly what I’m thinking. We didn’t, Johnny and I. Both at the end, and after it. But we’re not teens anymore.

I sip my wine and laugh at the jokes that Daniel tells. I notice a smile playing on Johnny’s lips, his eyebrows slightly raised at me. So I let my right hand fall down in between us. It’s only a few seconds later that I feel a brush from his fingers. Our car on the rollercoaster is getting near the top now: we’re almost at the stage where I’ll see the track disappear.

The band is playing not far from our table, and the dancefloor is right there, and it beckons me to stand up, to ask Johnny if he’ll dance, or to hint in a way that makes him ask me. But that’s not going to work. Not right next to the table, not for the moment we need alone. This is not going to be taken from me again.

“You know what?” I say to the three of them, but mostly to Daniel and Amanda. “I’ll be right back.”

I give them a warm smile, and pick up my purse. It probably looks like I’m going to the restroom, but I pass around behind the Christmas lights on the columns, and find a place where there are no tables, and I turn and wait.

Maybe ten seconds later, Johnny comes around the corner in that white jacket, his face cautious but opening when he sees me waiting there. He comes over to me, looks down at me, knows that I meant him to follow.

My heart beats every count of anticipation and I look into Johnny’s face, starting to see my real picture appearing, greys and shadows fading into the background as he comes into focus. I’m not going to let the moment get away this time.

“I wanted to dance with you,” I say, and then laugh quietly. “But I thought they’d probably come join us.”

“Yeah, that guy can’t take a hint,” he agrees, “so you’re probably right. Want me by yourself, huh?”

I smile. “Well, guy dressed like you, how often am I going to get a chance to dance with him?”

His eyes roam over my face. “We could dance right here.”

“You don’t care what people think?” I ask, feeling relief, because he’s already reaching out tentatively, to put his arms around my waist.

“What people?”

I’m clutching my purse, but it doesn’t stop me from lifting up my arms around his neck. My chest is light and full of air as Johnny comes in closer to me. We’re dancing, a little, just enough maybe, that nobody will mind two people so happy that it’s Christmas, that they didn’t worry about going to the dancefloor.

“You’re making me feel like a kid again today,” I say. “You remember junior prom?”

“You think I’d ever forget?”

“We never got to go the next year. Not together.”

I get a sad smile. “Told you I always screw things up.”

“You’re not screwing up this time.”

He bites the corner of his lip just a little, nerves perhaps, and I can’t help taking in everything about his face. He’s lined with the more than thirty new years which have passed, but he can still look at me the same way, and he’s still so gorgeous that I’m probably doing the same thing.

“You looked beautiful that night, Ali.”

I laugh and look between his eyes. “You remember, do you?”

He looks serious, nods slightly. There’s something vulnerable in his face, that he’s admitting he remembers a night so long ago, that well.

“Oh,” I say gently.

His stare is just as captivating as it always was. How was I ever supposed to resist someone who looked at me like that? Was willing to let me see that that feeling was inside them, for me?

“I’m sorry, that we didn’t get to go,” I say.

“You think we would’ve taken a good picture?”

“Sure. Maybe not as good as the ones at Golf N’ Stuff, just before. And definitely not as good as the ones you put on Facebook.”

“Oh, you saw those?”

I tease him with a laugh. “You know I did.”

Maybe he hasn’t completely stopped trying to play it cool. Him trying at _this_ stage, is just too amusing, though.

“Oh, hey,” I say. “We could do that now? There’s a place where they’re taking your picture here.”

“Yeah, saw that. You want a photo with me?”

“I haven’t been out anywhere this classy for ages.”

“Well, I’d hate for you to miss the opportunity, then.”

He takes my arm in his, and we head through the country club, and I’m shaken again by old memories here: a bad one, _good_ ones. It looks different tonight; nothing except the basic layout is the same. The Christmas decorations are beautiful, with something dreamlike about them in their pale golden colours, but it might just be me, how I’m feeling, my own dreamy state.

The photographer is by this tall tree, decorated with white and gold and green. She’s just finishing up with a couple, and while we’re waiting, Johnny grabs this bouquet of flowers from a vase on a small square table.

He holds them to me with this wry grin. “I know it’s not a corsage, but…”

My heart _aches_ for the idea of things lost with him, so I take the flowers. Take his gesture that we could pretend this one moment, we didn’t lose.

“You look beautiful, Ali. As beautiful as that night.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself.”

The couple head away, and the woman looks at us. “Would you like your picture taken, ma’am, sir?”

“Yes, please,” I say keenly, and she gives us our marks. She asks for one of our names as members, so that she can email us the picture, so I give her my parents’ names.

“You’re a stunning couple, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“Oh, we’re…. not a couple…” Johnny says quickly, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

“… anymore,” I finish.

“Right,” he agrees.

“I’m sorry,” the photographer says, “I didn’t mean to offend.”

“It’s okay,” I tell her. “No offense taken. Any woman would be lucky to have this guy.”

I can see the smile back playing on the edge of Johnny’s mouth. He puts his arm around me for the picture, and I’m holding the flowers and looking at the camera.

“Is that right?” asks his deep warm voice.

“You know me, Johnny. I don’t have time for lies.”

“Think of something happy,” the photographer tells us.

He leans in and whispers, “I was thinking about whether I could try to kiss you, but the last time I did that here, it didn’t go so well.”

I laugh, just as the photo is being taken, and then nudge him in the side. He ducks away from me.

“What?”

“I thought we agreed you had that coming?”

The lady offers to take another, since we moved from our pose, but I don’t mind. I like the way we look on the display screen: happy, carefree. So we thank her, and we move away for the next guests to have their photo taken.

Johnny takes the flowers from me, puts them back down on a table. We come to stand under one of the hanging streams of soft lights, facing each other.

“I did have it coming,” Jonny says, looking into my eyes. “Said you had a mean right hook. Taught me a lesson I never forgot.”

I look down and reach slowly for one of his hands, hold it just with our fingers touching, in between us.

“You were thinking about trying to kiss me, huh?”

“Well, it’s just something that I figured we’d do at prom.”

I stand up on my tiptoes in my heels, and lean in to his cheek. I smell his subtle amber scent, and the trace of something of a flower; I think of turning my face a little, to his mouth, but instead I lightly brush my lips over his cheek.

I come down to gaze at him. “There. How’s that?”

He looks slightly stunned that I did that, and maybe I am too. I lift our hands up between us, and lace my fingers over his properly, our palms pressed together.

“You planning to ask me to slow dance next, Johnny?”

He smiles. “Didn’t we just do that?”

“That’s true. Got any other ideas?”

“Have you?”

“I wondered if you wanted to go get some air.”

His eyes always look different when he feels like taunting me, or even if he feels cheeky. “Some air, huh?”

“You coming, or not?”

I collect my jacket and put it back on, and we head outside. “I got a lift here,” I say. “Do you have a car?”

“Yeah?”

“You happy to leave it here, while we go for a walk, maybe?”

“Yeah, Ali, I’m very happy to leave it here.” There’s this strange delight in his smile, almost something mischievous, and I wonder what that is about.

“Okay?”

We head down the steps, and I link our arms again.

“We going anywhere in particular?” he asks.

I watch him while I say, “How about, where the night takes us?”

“I like the sound of that.”

We start down the hill, with my goal to keep this moment going as long as I can. Keep us away from anything that can stop us. I’m wearing heels, but they’re comfortable enough, because I’m no longer a naive young woman willing to suffer for fashion, so I have no issues on the sidewalk.

“I’ve spent a lot of time with you today,” I say.

“That a good thing?”

“It’s the best day I’ve had for a long time.”

“I guess that’s the same for me. I’ve liked seeing you, Ali. We had our own little time machine.”

I laugh, and slip my hand in around his waist instead. The comforting weight of his larger arm comes down around my shoulders: knowing, comfortable, intimate.

“We had fun, didn’t we?”

“It’s been great,” he agrees.

“No, I didn’t mean today.”

We can see the lights of Ventura up ahead, the passing traffic. We’re walking that way, coming down the hill. It won’t be that long until we get there.

“What about on the ferris wheel?” he asks. “It didn’t break down this time.”

I sigh heavily, but I’m smiling up at him. “You have to keep reminding me of that, don’t you? Even though I told you I was scared for my life.”

“Told you I’d never let anything bad happen to you.”

We’ve reached the boulevard now, and I pause next to the cream brick wall of a Home Depot.

I ask, “You remember what else happened on the ferris wheel?”

“Never forgot.”

I step back until I feel the wall at my back, and lean my head against the bricks.

“A first kiss is pretty important for a couple.”

“I… you know what? I can’t even remember our last kiss, when it was. Not a real one.”

I’m staring hard at Johnny, and he starts to close the distance between us. My heart is waiting now, for the rollercoaster car to hit the top of the track. I can sense that moment is close, could happen any second, and then the world will drop away.

“Neither can I, not for sure.”

He shakes his head slightly, sighs.

“We deserve better than that,” I say softly, “after what we had.”

Johnny steps up close enough that I tuck my purse under my arm to put my hands on his chest, on his jacket. His come to my waist.

“I’ve been thinking about doing this for the last five hours.”

“Doing what?” I ask, smiling, as I feel the final second of the wait.

“This.”

Johnny’s lips touch mine, and the ground vanishes under my feet.

It’s the kiss of old lovers meeting, grateful to be allowed one moment more. It’s gentle and not demanding, but I don’t have enough time to do more than enjoy the fall into exactly the feeling that I’d hoped for, before he pulls away to look into my eyes.

He’s there, tousled blond hair, jaw still strong but now rougher, deep lines around his blue eyes, skin perfectly wearing all of his years. He’s there in full color.

I sigh, almost like I could cry. “Johnny…”

He breathes in audibly and kisses me again, and my hand comes up around his neck. The expanse we plunge into conquers me even before I can choose whether to let it. He holds my cheek, his nose fitting around mine, and kisses me like he’s never been away.

I learn how his lips feel now, his face touching mine. His mouth, welcoming, measured, knowing. His jacket is smooth and cool under my fingers, the fabric so soft to run my hand over. He kneads my waist through my jacket, and I wonder what he thinks of how I feel there now, not so young as I was.

He kisses me as I fall, and by the time we stop, my hands are holding his jacket, tucked under the lapels.

“Is that our last kiss, or our first kiss?” I ask, breathless, unable to break his gaze.

“What do you think?”

“I know which one I want it to be.”

Johnny gives me a look that I remember. It’s that he means what he’s about to say, and he needs me to understand that.

“I won’t take you for granted again.”

I say simply, “I know you won’t.”

I glance over his shoulder, and it’s like the fates want this to happen. I’ve felt that way all day, and it’s reassuring.

“Hey, Johnny?”

“Yeah?”

“We had a plan, didn’t we? What we were gonna do after prom.”

His eyebrows move up, and he’s giving me this naughty smile. “That’s quite a memory you got there.”

I flick my eyes to the motel and he turns his head.

“I see.”

I give him as assessing glance. “Looks like they’ve got a vacancy.”

“You wanna go check that out?”

“You telling me you don’t?”

There’s a little smirk there, and I think to myself, _there you are._

“Didn’t say that, did I?”

We cross Ventura, holding hands, as the late-night traffic goes by.

Johnny goes into the reception, while I stare around at the place. It hasn’t been renovated since the eighties. The sign is about the only thing that looks new, and it promises late-night check in. I guess I should be glad it doesn’t offer rooms by the hour.

There’s a long L-shape of ground floor rooms, with a planter box next to each doorway. The carpark has crumbling concrete, and here and there a weed growing up. The faded light brown paint on the rooms is possibly the ugliest color in existence, and I try to think back. _Surely_ it didn’t look this bad back then.

When Johnny comes back out of the office, he waves a key at me, and I take a deep breath. He draws me in with his arm around me as we start to cross the carpark, and he stares down at me.

“I was gonna take you here.”

“I know. I hope that maybe it was a bit classier back then.”

He chuckles. “You don’t like this place?”

“What’s not to like?”

We’re at our room, and there’s a cracked white plastic chair outside it. The doors are painted white, offsetting the brown, but our number, 9, is hanging askew, and maybe it’s actually a 6. I can’t tell. The windows could do with a clean, but there are curtains, at least, and I can’t see in until Johnny opens the door and turns the light on.

It’s not glamorous, but I’ve seen worse.

There’s a big bed with the sheets turned down, blankets folded on the corner; a TV on a stand, a small fridge, and a narrow closet. A door in back. A laminate table and two cream, vinyl-upholstered chairs, and that’s it, unless we count the geometric blue and green patterned carpet.

“You take me to the most romantic places, Johnny.”

He smiles as he shuts the door behind us and puts the latch on. He throws the key on the table, and I put my purse down there and undo my shoes. 

Johnny’s toeing his off. “That’s not really fair. I took you to lunch, to Golf N’ Stuff, and then we danced at the club.”

“I guess you’re right,” I say as I reach to undo my jacket. “I shouldn’t get greedy.”

He steps into me and lifts my hands away. My heart comes up high in my chest as he touches the button of my jacket.

“I’d like to see your dress again. You looked amazing tonight.”

I smirk at him, because I doubt it’s my _dress_ he wants to see, but I’ve always enjoyed him when he’s like this, enjoyed the way it makes me feel.

“How long have you been wearing white jackets?” I ask, as he opens the buttons, and my jacket comes loose.

“Not long.”

“It’s a good look on you. Same with that black shirt.”

“You like that, huh?”

I shrug out of the jacket and put it on the chair. I have something I need to do, being a lady of my age, but I think, or hope that Johnny will think I’m doing it for a romantic mood. It has that benefit too.

I cross the room and turn on the light in the bathroom, and then turn off our overhead light. It’s softer now, less harsh, and much better for my mood and my confidence.

Johnny draws me smoothly inside his arms again, at the base of the bed.

“So what happens once we get to the motel?”

“You telling me Johnny Lawrence has forgotten what to do when he’s got a girl right at his fingertips?”

He smiles, a perfect smile in the dim light. “Maybe you can show me.”

I touch the lapels of his jacket, and he starts to take it off.

“This?” he asks.

“Uh huh.”

He throws it down on top of the blanket.

I step into him, my hands on his chest again. It’s intimate, precarious now, because I can feel his body warmth underneath the black shirt, can’t pretend that we’re not about to experience much more of that. His chest feels fit enough to throw me off-kilter, until I remember that Johnny still does karate.

It’s a delightful surprise, and I explore him for a second, almost recalculating how I will take it if a man of his age is still going to be that sexy.

“And then I might undo your shirt,” I say softly.

“Yeah?” he whispers in a low voice.

I go for the first button. “You might reach for the zip of my dress.”

He touches the small of my back first, before his hands trail up. I’m slowly undoing his buttons, and I stop when I get to his belt.

I feel the brief resistance as he tugs down, and then my zip starts to be drawn.

“Am I doing it right?”

I nod and smile. I’m desperate to touch him, what I can see of his body inside his shirt, but I let him pull my dress down my arms first. My confidence soars with how his face creases, when he looks down at me as my dress slowly drops to my waist.

 _“Ali,_ I… _”_

I have to thank my stars that some optimistic part of me packed my black silk set for my LA trip, because it looks like it’s just about killed Johnny. You just don’t get that reaction, not past forty, and it sets a fire burning in me to have him want me physically, as well as emotionally.

It’s a pretty bra: it has lace along the shape of the top of my breasts, like peekholes, and I know I look as good as I can, when I wear it.

I can’t wait any longer to slide my hands inside his shirt, and I draw his heat toward me, against me, even as I feel his hands come to cup me.

“You can’t seriously still have this body,” he tells me in an awed voice, so I melt in against him and find his mouth.

We kiss as we touch, as we re-learn the lost parts of each other. He’s not young and firm, but he’s strong, he’s _powerful_ under my touch. A body that can still move how he wants, I’m sure. He’s athletic enough that I can feel his muscles here, even if they’re not sharp lines now, and it’s too much for my mind, and way too much for my body.

I start to pull Johnny’s shirt out of his pants so I can keep undoing him, as he kisses my mouth fiercely now, and I let him, I chase him with it. His hands on my breasts are needy but not forceful, and I feel my dress start to slip down my hips.

I’ve got his shirt open, but he’s starting to kiss my neck now, so I can’t see what I’m doing and just have to try to pull it away and off.

I don’t quite get there, because my dress has dropped to the floor, and before I know it, Johnny is trying to pick me up.

I laugh, and so does he, a low sound against my neck, and then we’re collapsing on the sheets, and he’s kissing down to my chest.

I get back to getting that shirt off him, and he goes along with my plan, pulling it down his arms with me. His nose nuzzles between my breasts, and he starts to kiss along the lace.

His hand is at my waist now, on my bare skin, and I won’t have an ability to hide the fact that my body isn’t as tight as it used to be.

My fingers find his powerful back, broad as ever, and I try to think back to the last time it felt this exciting to make love. Physically, maybe it hasn’t been forever, but with my heart, I have a pretty undeniable feeling I might know exactly how long it’s been.

Feeling him kiss me through my bra, feeling his tender touch on my stomach, I fall further, let the knowledge of our raging love come back to me. I want to feel it in total now, in this moment with Johnny. We have to make this night the best that we can, because we never know what happens tomorrow.

He’s kneeling over me, holding his weight up, but I shuffle one leg and then the other, so that he’s lying down inside, on my body with his, which means I’ve essentially just given myself to him.

He gazes at me, and I see the heat I need to, the same inner white-hot emotion I’m feeling.

He comes up to kiss me again, and I reach in between us to undo his belt. His stomach is still pretty much flat, and I love how strong he feels, how vital in my arms. His tongue moves with mine in delicate strokes as I keep undressing him, and then I start to move his trousers down.

He breaks away from me. “I’ll just…”

“I have one in my purse.”

He chuckles softly. “It’s okay, I just need to…”

He sits up on his knees, looking down right over me, and I can’t even decide what to look at first. My eyes feast on the shapes of his mature body, softened in some ways, but breathtaking in entirety. My own body is alive with need for him, strong enough that maybe it would be stirred even if he wasn’t Johnny, but the fact that he is, means that I’m lost to desire and there’s no coming back.

He’s reaching for his wallet, and then kneeing off his pants, and he gets the condom out, and throws it down on the bed with his wallet.

He’s looking down at my underwear now, and my breaths are shaky, my stomach moving erratically. I stare at his hips, at the way his thighs meet his black briefs, how full those are because of what we’ve been doing. He’s kneeling like a god in front of me, and looking at me like _I’m_ one.

But that look softens when he stares up at my face, and there’s a plea in his eyes. It nearly breaks me.

He says, “Tell me this isn’t just tonight.”

My eyes fill startlingly with a sting. “No, Johnny.” I swallow. “Not for me, not if you…”

“I do. Are you kidding me? Of _course_ I want to.”

“Oh thank god.” I’m not going to cry when Johnny is about to make love to me, because that _would_ be pathetic, and not romantic. And I made the decision earlier that I was only going to be romantic.

He looks back down my body again. “You’re so beautiful. _Still.”_

He’s so forceful in his declaration, I nearly feel shy. “You don’t have to say that.”

“How can I not?”

I hesitate, and then arch my back and reach underneath to my bra. I undo it and lie back down. Johnny watches me as my fingers slowly find the straps and I pull it away.

He reaches up, and a gentle hand comes onto my breast, touching my sensitive skin. I trail my hand up his arm, squeezing his bicep, and he comes down onto his elbows. I bury my fingers in his hair, hoping he knows what I want him to do, and he does. His mouth comes down to me.

I sigh and arch into him, because it’s always been one of my most responsive places. He kisses me there tenderly, while I wend my fingers through hair that feels so much like it used to. A different length, the same softness, the same beautiful head.

My breathing starts to build as he pays me that patient and skilful care, and then his thumb plays lightly there, while he moves across my chest, touching me in symmetry. The added stimulation has me lifting up again, and I see him smiling onto my skin, enjoying my response.

When his weight comes down in between my legs, it’s different: it’s mostly bare between our bodies now, a lot of skin on skin, but not quite everywhere yet, not there. But I can feel him, his firmness lying against me, and it calls pooling heat south in my body. He thrusts in gently, and when it makes me give a helpless moan, he starts to slowly do that while we kiss.

His fingers press down along my stomach again, enough that I can feel his rough parts, the hands of a working man. I want to protest when he stops moving against me, but quickly - as if he knew I needed it - there’s the firm weight of his hand on my black silk instead, and I beg him with my eyes.

He slips in from the side and touches me, and the feeling makes me dizzy. He comes to my mouth again, starts to kiss me while he touches me, such slow passion, seeking the rhythms I make in response. I’m embarrassingly ready for him, every little stroke feeling like a masterpiece.

With his gentle sound into my mouth, I realise Johnny must like to touch me there, and if my confidence needed any more help, that will do it. It’s such a _moment_ to be wanted like this, falling into this place with my body, with my mind, with my heart, everything engaged, nothing left reserved for any other person, for any other thought.

It’s just Johnny and I, how it should be, how it’s always been in my heart.

He takes me further physically, and I let him, but with how important this is for us, I don’t want him to take me all the way there. It will dull my presence in the moment with him, and I can’t do it. It’s a risk to delay, because it always means I might not feel satisfaction at all, and be left with that sigh of disappointment, but I don’t see how there’s any risk of it tonight. Not like this.

Johnny has me helpless with the need of a younger woman, and once it becomes sharp, I find his hand, still him.

There’s a searching look, and I smile breathlessly, needing us to move on as soon as we can.

“Lie down next to me,” I say, and I place the condom into his hand.

My eyes are on his while he takes his place, while he gets ready, and I slip the final piece of my clothing off and away. He’s made me feel desired and sure enough that I can take my place above him unselfconsciously.

His face creases with adoration for me again, enough to keep me going for the rest of my life, maybe, and he gazes up at my body while I take him inside.

“ _Ali…”_ he says imploringly.

“Hold me,” I tell him, as we start to make love. His hands take my body, supporting my waist.

I tuck my feet where I’ll need them in order to move how I want to, and Johnny groans deeply, his grip comes in with his desire. Just like the emotional moments, our sensuality is colored with sharpness and clarity that makes a mockery of other experiences. Weak imitations.

Here I feel powerful and adored, and already fulfilled in nearly every way. I rock over him, giving both of us the feelings that our bodies crave, and my heat is there and ready for me, needing only a little more.

I relax into making it feel as good for Johnny as I know how to, into connecting us by showing how much I care for him with my gaze. He’s starting to shift restlessly, meet my body, lock onto me with those familiar blue eyes. Oh, we are _good_ at this, I realise with awe, and we _are_ made for each other, we must be, because look at how effortless it is.

His fingers find my breasts and he takes them in his palms; his eyes fill with sudden, knowing intensity, and I cover his hands with mine. Sealing his touch to my body breaks the thread for me, and I let him see it happen in my face, and fall blindly into the feeling, in the instant I see him follow me into the little death.

This is the crest of a primitive bond, a ferocious love too dangerous to let anyone else see. I fly headlong with him, into a moment nobody will ever understand. He holds me while we fall together, the release nearly too strong for my heart to bear.

I need to lie with him in peace now, and so I move off and find a place ready for me inside his arm. He locks me in tight so that we have to be up close, only inches away from a kiss, and the entreaty is still in his eyes. Not urgent now, but calm, and I know it’s why he’s holding me so near. I need to be held that way, too.

There’s nothing to say to explain what we both know, so we don’t.

We wait, together, and I stare at his lips. “Do you think it would have been like that, after prom?”

“No,” he says, with a wry smile. “We were young, and I was dumb. I had no idea.”

“You weren’t so bad.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I know I said I could talk about what a bad boyfriend you were. But I could talk about what a good one you were, too.”

“I like the sound of that much better.”

“I thought you might.”

Johnny gives me the vulnerable look again, the one that means what he’s about to say matters, and he wishes he felt surer of how I’ll take it.

“We uh… we’ve got a lot of things to work out.”

“Yeah,” I say, and the understatement forces a soft laugh from me. “We do.”

“But there is a ‘we’?”

I reach up to stroke through his hair. “If you think you’re not taking me back, after everything today…”

“You know I’m taking you back.”

“Good. Now, what do you plan to do about your car?”

Johnny throws his head back against the pillow and grins. “Shit, I forgot all about it.”

“How can you forget about your _car_?” I ask teasingly.

“Long story.”


End file.
